


The Wayward King

by PurpleArrowzandLeather



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: A little different, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 02:17:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11979990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleArrowzandLeather/pseuds/PurpleArrowzandLeather
Summary: Aragorn takes his time getting to know everybody.





	1. Taking A Chance

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own any characters from the Tolkien series, books or movies.

          It's been a long time since Ara- no, not Aragorn, Strider, has been on his own. It was a disgrace to his family, but Strider hadn't been able to stay. Never in his time before then did he think he would ever leave, but now it's different. His father is dead, and it's not likely that he'll ever see his family again. He'd never liked the idea of being the center of attention. Still doesn't.

          He looks up into the sky as the rain starts to fall on his head. Strider has no idea why, but the rain has always seemed to speak to him. It seems that whenever his cloak can't keep him warm enough, it rains, but he's never been able to think of it as unwelcome. It keeps the land alive, after all.

          The rain starts to patter harder across his hooded brow and his pushes forwards. Ahead of him about a mile, a long grove if trees rests in a small valley. Looking back the way he came, he shakes his head. He'd rather not go back, even with the possibility of somewhere warm to sleep. 

          Pushing out towards the grove of trees, Strider sighs, the weather picking up. He could make haste to reach the trees, but his joints are already achy and sore from his run out of the town. The people there had been less than friendly. It makes him wonder if he would have been treated better if he were king.  _Sadly, I think not._

          Before long, he's shivering, but he keeps his pace even. He almost wishes that he had a horse, but what good would it do? Take the noble creature out of the warm barn just to let him suffer the same? No, it's better for him to walk. 

          When he finally reaches the trees, he finds a small alcove, created by the swirling roots of the ancient trees. The leaves under his shuddering body haven't been touched by the rain yet, so Strider takes his sodden cloak and hangs it over the opening. Though water still drips towards his from the soaked wrinkles of fabric, Strider deems it well enough and lies his sword on the dry leaves in front of him. His tired body is ordering sleep, so he lies down close to the entrance. He falls into a restless sleep, and is awoken many times by thunder. He snaps up this time, knowing that it wasn't the weather. He presses back into the farthest part of his shelter and strains his ears to hear something, anything. 

          Water is steadily leaking through his cloak before it's pulled away. Strider can see another black cloak outside his small den, and it sheds water like magic. 

          "Is someone here?" his voice asks, soft-spoken and gentle. 

          Strider stays silent, but the man crouches low anyway and tilts his head to look in. When he sees Strider, he stills, as not to startle him. Aragorn can guess what the man is seeing him as: cold, weak, shivering like there's no tomorrow, and dangerous. The sword in front of his feet gives evidence to that. Strider can sense no ill will from him, and when his tired mind recognizes that, his starts to slip. 

          It's only when he takes a step into the alcove that Strider reacts, quickly pulling his sword out of its sheath and holding it out defensively. 

          "Easy, young Man. I won't hurt you."

          Strider sees simple, yet expressive braids over his ears, and then the ears themselves. This isn't a Man. This is an elf. It's been a long time since Strider has spoken Elvish, but the words are clear as ever in his numb mind. 

          " _I am sorry._ "

          The elf crouches lower still and tilts his head. " _You speak Elvish?_ " 

          " _Yes._ "

          His eyes narrow. " _Is that all you speak?_ " he reaches out as if to help Strider up, but he shakes his head. "Easy. I won't hurt you. I'm a friend."

          Wary, and keeping his wits about him, he answers back with the same response as before. " _I am sorry._ "

          " _Whatever for?_ " the elf asks, his blue eyes full of concern.

          Strider struggles to conceal a shudder that makes him tremble and looks the elf in the eyes. " _I do not trust you._ "

          If the elf takes offense, he doesn't show it. He looks over Strider's water-ridden form with another worried gaze. " _You are unwell. At least let me help you get warm?_ " 

          Strider would object, but he doesn't even know how much longer he can hold his head up. He shakes his head anyway. " _I am sorry."_

The elf takes another step closer and Strider emits a low growl of warning from deep in his throat. " _You keep saying that, but you have nothing to fear. Not from me._ "

          Strider doesn't know where this mistrust is coming from, because he knows that this elf will do him no harm. In his weakened state, it wouldn't be hard to overpower him and just take him to safety anyway. He's tempted to let the elf try. 

          Instead, the elf sits down, his white hair falling lightly over his shoulder. " _You'll freeze, you know? If you stay out here? From the looks of you, I'd say you don't give in that easily._ " the elf looks at him, mirth in his expression. " _What brought you here?_ "

          " _I passed through a horrid town and had to flee._ "

          The elf looks more concerned, which is getting degrading fairly fast. " _You came from there?_ " he points towards the town. " _No wonder you don't trust me._ _Though I assure you, I have no dealings with those people._ " 

          Strider's sword arm dips, but the elf wakes him back up when he tilts the edge of the blade back towards his neck. 

          " _Keep your sword up._ "

          " _I know how to fight._ " Strider hisses. 

          The elf shrugs, nonchalant. " _That's a beautiful sword._ "

          Strider nods and ignores the blatant shake that makes his weakness clear. " _Escoldier_ "

          The elf smiles. " _Do you have a name?_ "

          Strider's numb fingers drop the sword, but the elf makes no move to take it. " _Strider._ "

          Ar-Strider doesn't know what it is about the elf, but his presence is comforting. The elf reaches out a hand to Strider's forehead and he doesn't lean away. His hand is so warm that Aragorn can't help the relieved breath that leaves him. 

          " _My name is Legolas. And I'm helping you whether you want it or not._ "


	2. Who Saves Who?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both parties could use a little help, and probably a little common sense.

          " _Easy, Easy. Wouldn't want you to hurt yourself now that we're here._ " Legolas says quietly.

          Strider huffs in mock reproach. " _You think me clumsy?_ "

          " _Where did I just find you?_ " Legolas answers, laughter in his tone.

          Strider would laugh with him, but his growing headache rears its ugly, well, head. He groans as Legolas lays him down on something soft. The warmth in the room makes his head stuffy, and Legolas offers him something to drink. 

          " _What is it?_ " Strider asks. 

          " _Herbs. They will help._ "

          Strider is beyond worries of trust. He just needs to rest and get healthy. He takes a shaky sip of the liquid and finds it bitter. Fighting the urge to spit it out, he swallows. The elf has his sword, but it's probably for the better, since Strider would drop it again. 

          His eyelids feel heavy and he looks up at the lone elf. 

          " _It's helping you sleep. You need it._ "

          Strider feels distrust creep back over him, but he's asleep before anything can happen. He still wakes up in the haze of fever and blearily watches Legolas read a book, cradled in the wavy frame of a window. He sees the black leather straps of his tunic laced lightly across something white. Strider knows that it's not a shirt. The most likely option after that is a bandage, but that can only lead him to wonder why Legolas would help him. Especially when the elf was hurt himself. 

          " _You should worry about yourself._ " Legolas murmurs, still engulfed in his book. 

          His answer to Strider's thoughts makes him wonder then why the elf would leave the injury in plain sight if he didn't want to be worried over.

          " _All wounds need to breathe. Surely you know this?_ "

          Aragorn is very confused.

          " _Your thoughts are in Elvish. I apologize for the herbs. They do have a somewhat nullifying affect on the mind-to-mouth filter._ "

          Strider ensures that his mouth is shut before thinking his next thought. How much could he have said?

          If Strider isn't mistaken, a flicker or discomfort traces over the elf's features and he moves to a different window. This one is longer and Legolas reaches to a short shelf and puts his book away. Tilting his head back into the dip that seems made for it, Legolas closes his eyes. Strider tries his best to do the same, and his fever takes him back into the fire without out question. 

          After a few hours, he can hear Legolas murmuring in Elvish. Strider tries to open his eyes, but his body rebels against his mind.  All he can do is listen to Legolas murmur words of strength. He realizes that they're to himself, and begs his eyes to open. He only manages a sliver, but it's enough to look over at Legolas and see the wound on his side. The small patch of bandage that Strider had seen earlier was deceptive, the wound covering most of his right side. The elf looks as if he was lashed, or something was wrapped around him.

          The elf rubs a salve over the entirety of the wound and his jaw clenches. Strider is suddenly awake to the possibility that Legolas knows less of medicine than he does. His body starts to cooperate more and he reaches out a hand towards the injured elf. 

          " _Legolas."_

          The elf casts a pain-filled glance towards Strider and covers his wound.

          " _You should let me help you._ "

          " _I'll be alright. Rest, Strider. I should be well by morning._ "

          If everything didn't ache so badly, Strider would fight him on it, like he had every move that it took to get here. To say that Legolas had made the wrong move trying to tug him out of his hole would be an understatement. His smaller blades were out and against the elf's throat in no time at all. Still, he persisted and wrapped his water-shedding cloak around Strider's shoulders. As it is, Strider can't keep himself awake. 

          Legolas gently cures his wound as Strider slips back out of reality. He doesn't know why Strider was so intent on sleeping out on the storm, but he's paying the price for it now. His shivering is sending vibrations through the floor, and Legolas shakes his head. _Foolish man._ Then again, Legolas was out in the storm as well. 

          It's been nearly a day since he's slept, but he's torn between recovery and making sure that Strider can still breathe. That, and his bed is currently occupied. This place was never meant for more than just Legolas. He'd been on his way back here when he saw the sodden cloak hanging over the roots of the elder trees. The footsteps leading in but not out were his first clue as to Strider's presence. 

          The illness that has taken hold in Strider isn't as bad as Legolas had originally feared, but being somewhere warm has put a stop to the worst that could have happened. His rest is even now, but Legolas has a feeling that it wasn't as such when he found him. 

          Finally having decided what to do, Legolas presses the bandage back against the wound and tightens his leather around it. Grabbing his heavy cloak from the door, Legolas casts one last glance at his guest. Hopefully he'll be back before Strider wakes up in the morning. This hunt could prove fruitless, but he doesn't have much for food around.  _Unless Strider likes lembas bread._

          Pulling his hood over his head, he heads deep into the woods. His bow and quiver still rest in the stump where he left them, and he slings his quiver smoothly over his shoulder. Being out in the rain gives Legolas time to think about his guest. Looking at the sword which is also tucked in the stump, he wonders where Strider comes from. He's obviously a loner, much like Legolas himself. But it doesn't explain how he ended up in the woodlands. It seems that all of Legolas' questions are best answered by Strider himself, though depending on how healthy he is when he wakes, the conversation might have to wait. 


End file.
